A Soul of Steel Read online

  A Soul of Steel

  Book 2 of the Cup of Blood Series

  Troy A. Hill

  TH Media

  Copyright © 2018 by Troy A. Hill

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Troy A. Hill

  Images via Deposit Photos

  Created with Vellum

  For Carol

  Thanks for letting me play with my imaginary friends

  Contents

  Welsh Pronunciations

  Glossary

  Join our Teulu

  Author’s Note

  1. The Dance

  2. A Reawakened Soul

  3. Absolution

  4. A Dream of Death

  5. A Request

  6. Demonstration

  7. The Other Half of My Soul

  8. A Matched Set

  9. Students

  10. Departures

  11. Arrivals

  12. A Beast

  13. Secrets

  14. Dance of the Blades

  15. Soulmates

  16. Stitches

  17. Plans

  18. On the Trail

  19. Graves

  20. The Farm

  21. Guests

  22. Negotiations

  23. Empty

  24. Meditations

  25. Blood

  26. Demon

  27. The Mists

  28. The Fallen

  29. Guilt

  30. Caress

  31. Argument

  32. Reflections in Sunlight

  33. Recoveries

  34. A Kiss of Blood

  35. Returns

  36. Friends

  37. Council

  38. The Abbey

  39. Funeral for a Friend

  40. Conversations

  41. Awakenings

  42. Claws Again

  43. Change of Plans

  44. The Guard Will Follow

  45. Recruits and Death

  46. A Dance of Distraction

  47. Playing Bear

  48. An Admirer

  49. A Little Bird

  50. Searching

  51. Surprise

  52. Into the night

  The adventure continues

  The Teulu

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  Acknowledgments

  Welsh Pronunciations

  Throughout this series I’ve opted to use modern Welsh words in place of old Brythonic variants.

  Any errors in word use or selection are solely mine. Variations in northern and southern Welsh accents are not included in this guide.

  Below is a limited guide to some of the spellings and pronunciations you will find in this series.

  Welsh Pronunciations: In Welsh, all letters are pronounced, even when it appears impossible to do so. Vowels typical are pronounced in their “soft” forms with a few exceptions:

  A as in man

  E as in met

  I is a hard E sound, as in Queen

  O as in hot

  U is a hard I or E sound, as in Pita

  W (yes, it’s a vowel in Welsh) is the double O sound, as in Zoo

  Y has several variations:

  Alone it’s usually pronounced uh as an article: y caer (the fortress)

  Within a word, it acts as a Welsh U

  Double Vowell Dipthongs:

  Ei, Eu: as ay way

  Ow: long O as in tow

  Ae, Ai, Au: as the y in my

  Ywy: as in the ui in Fluid

  Other Welsh Sounds:

  dd: pronounced as the TH sound

  Bleddyn = Blethun

  Rh: to pronounce this, reverse the sounds. H then R, and trill or roll the R

  LL: This is the “dreaded” Welsh sound, and is almost unique to the Welsh language. To pronounce this sound, place your tongue against the roof of your mouth, as though you’ve finished the sound of “EL”, then blow as though you’re pronouncing the beginning of the “H” sound. Add in the “EL” sound. This sound has also been described as pronouncing an L with a th in front of it.

  FF: is F as in fan

  F: is V as in Avon (Welsh pronunciation of “Afon”)

  C: is always hard, similar to the K in English, as in “Cat”

  CH: as in the Scottish “Loch”

  Names in Penllyn

  Mair: Ma-ir

  Neirin: Nayreen

  Rhian: Hrrian

  Rhos: Hrross

  Bleddyn: Blethun

  Owain: O-wine

  Fadog: Va-dog

  If you are a native Welsh speaker, and notice any flaws in the above, please let me know via email: [email protected]

  Glossary

  of terminology, places, and historical figures

  In the early and mid-seventh century, the divisions we know of today, England, Scotland and Wales didn’t exist then. Throughout history, different names and terms have been used for various factions, peoples, and areas of Britain. Below are the terms used in this book. The author has also included historical figures of the time that may be referenced in the various stories.

  Bernicia: A Kingdom, in north-central Britannia. Later, it was combined with Deira to form what would be called Northumbria.

  Britannia: The largest of the British Isles.

  Britain: Modern day Wales: A dark-ages political division that denotes the western half of the lower section of Britannia that is still controlled by the native British. The other sections are often controlled by Saxon and Pagan Kings.

  Cadwallon ap Cadfan: King of Gwynedd, died 634/5.

  Cantref (plural cantrefi): A division of land within a Cymry kingdom. Cantrefi were ruled by Lords, who owed allegiance to Kings.

  Cymry: A term referring to the native Britons who remained following the withdrawal of the Roman legions at the beginning of the dark ages (late fourth century and early fifth century CE). This term typically refers to the people we know today as the Welsh. The author will use Cymry to distinguish the Welsh from their Anglo-Saxon neighbours.

  Edwin: King of Deira and Bernicia (d. 632 or 633 CE).

  Fadog (cantref)*: A former part of the Kingdom of Powys.

  Gwynedd: A Cymry Kingdom, in what would be North Wales today.

  Ida: first known King of Bernicia, (d. 559 CE). His descendants were among the kings and rulers of several of the non-Cymric kingdoms of Britannia. "Sons of Ida" refer to his descendants who were fierce rulers and warlords.

  Mercia: a Saxon Kingdom in the midlands of today’s Britain.

  Penda: King of Mercia

  Penllyn (cantref)*: A cantref of the Kingdom of Powys.

  Penteulu: The leader of a Cymry Lord’s war band or guard.

  Rhos (cantref)*: A cantref of the Kingdom of Gwynedd.

  Saxons: Germanic settlers into the British Isles following the withdrawal of Rome from the land. They controlled many of the Eastern British kingdoms during the dark ages.

  * The Author has taken liberties with people and location boundaries, as well as with historical timelines surrounding several Cantrefi and their lords.

  Join our Teulu

  In Welsh, the word Teulu (tay-lee) means family. In dark ages Penllyn, the Teulu was the fighting “family” of the Lord and Lady. The men at arms who protected the land and people.

  Members of our Teulu are the first to hear about Troy’s newest books, peek behind the scenes of the writing and researching process Troy goes through, and learn about specials and gifts.

  Flip to the back of the book to learn how to become a part of our Teulu. />
  Author’s Note

  The tome you hold in your hands (be it on paper or pixels on a device) is the second book in this series.

  The first volume is A Cup of Blood, and should be read before this story. This book is a direct continuation of the story that began in A Cup of Blood.

  There is also a prequel series of stories, that introduce the location and cast of characters before our main character, Maria of Rome, arrives in Penllyn. These are all available in The Penllyn Chronicles Collection 1.

  A third novelette that bridges the two series is available only on my website cupofblood.com when you signup for my newsletter.

  You can find links to various distributors on my website at cupofblood.com

  1

  The Dance

  Gwen and I rose early the next morning. We padded around the sleeping guests on the floor of the great hall and headed toward the kitchen. Gwen filled a bowl with leftovers from the feast to break her fast. The sky was beginning to shift to dark blue, the hour before the sun rose. The moon was still high in the sky and lit the hilltop with its pale light. Up the hill, though, a soft yellow glow drenched the weapons field where Cadoc and I drove off the last of the spectres.

  Yellow light spilled from lamps around the field. Lord Emlyn and several of his guards danced a slow dance. Their blades were bare. The morning mist swirled around their ankles. I couldn't resist the sight and lead Gwen that way. Too many years were passed, almost a century, since I had seen those movements. My heart sang out with the music of their dance, and I was drawn to watch.

  Emlyn and two of his fellow guardsmen wore just trousers and boots in the mists. One was a lanky man with light brown hair. His moustache was solid in colour, yet nowhere near as bushy as the other Cymry men let theirs grow. His dripped down his face and filled in under his chin. The third man was Gerallt, the lead guardsman.

  They moved slowly, swords in hand, through a series of ritualistic moves. The form and grace mimicked courtly dances from Europe. The dance called to me.

  Lord Emlyn glided with the grace and form I had seen in only one other man. The guard with the light hair moved almost as well as the Penteulu. Gerallt showed skill, but I could tell he was outclassed by the other two.

  I was so enraptured with the beauty of the dance, the moves were thrusts, slices, parries and evasions, that I missed the footfalls behind us.

  "He's quite the swordsman," a gravelly voice said. "His reputation is close to becoming legend across all of Britannia." Caerwyn, the father of the bride from yesterday's wedding, gave us a small bow. Gwen returned his smile.

  "Lord Meirionnydd," I said with a mild incline of my head.

  “Please, milady,” he said, “let’s skip the formalities. You’ve become a fast friend already.”

  We all stayed quiet and watched the poetry of the men and their blades. Memories from my past flashed through my mind. My hands and arms twitched with their movements.

  As they slowed, then stopped, Emlyn faced the other two and raised his sword in salute. They pivoted to face us and gave us the same tribute. Only after Emlyn sheathed his blade, did the other two gather their gear. Emlyn waved an invitation at Caerwyn and pointed to where several practice weapons lay out on a woollen cloak; wooden swords made in approximations of the various sword lengths. Most were the wide blades, made for one hand, with a shallow guard above the hilt, and a wide triangular pommel across the bottom of the handle. But, there were a few longer weapons. I hadn't seen this style for almost a century, and then, only in the hands of two masters of the blades.

  “Milord Meirionnydd,” he said, “would you care for a practice round?”

  “Perhaps when I’m younger, Emlyn,” Caerwyn chuckled. “Ladies? There is no finer bladesman nor teacher on this side of our land.”

  A smile spread across my face. Gwen cast a glance at me. I wasn't sure if her expression was one of curiosity or caution.

  “Don’t get sliced up,” she said. “I’ve already patched you up once in the last month.”

  I unfastened my cloak. My dress was tighter than I preferred. Rather than rip the seams to gain room in the skirt, I pulled the bottom of the skirt above my knees. I tucked the upper end of the skirt under my belt. Too many centuries had dulled any modesty I might have about showing my legs. I just hoped I wouldn't shock Penllyn's sword master, nor Lord Meirionnydd too much.

  Caerwyn walked a pace behind me. His expression was stoic.

  “May I assist you, milady?” he asked as we reached the practice weapons. “Most of our women train with the sword, and a small shield.”

  “Your women learn weapons?” Most of Europe’s cultures had shifted weapons training to only men.

  “Our lands are too rural, and raids too frequent,” Caerwyn said. “All of our people learn spear and shield at an early age. At least enough to help defend our lands as is often needed.”

  My hand itched with desire, but not for a short blade and small, round shield. I wanted to feel the poetry I had just witnessed as Lord Emlyn lead his protégés through those meditations.

  Emlyn stepped over and laid his belts and two blades onto his folded cloak. He watched with almost no expression, other than a touch of curiosity in his eyes. I gestured toward the weapons. “Which is your preferred weapon, milord?”

  He reached for a sword longer than the others, with a more pronounced guard. There were several like it amongst the others. Penllyn's penteulu was one of the few men who preferred a longer, thinner blade. When combined with the second sword he wore at his other side; he reminded me of someone else I knew from many centuries before. That they had met was certain in my mind now.

  I selected one of the same type and tested the balance in my hand. The hilts on these were longer. Room for a hand-and-a-half. My smaller hands would fit on the hilt, one above the other. The centre of balance was almost perfect: about three fingers down the blade from the handle. The cross guards on these practice weapons matched the ones on Emlyn's own swords. They were broader and longer than the shallow circular discs on the Celtic or Saxon blades. Emlyn's choice of guards on his blades told me he was fond of his fingers and wanted to keep them intact.

  He led the way onto the practice field. We both raised our wooden weapons toward Gwen and Caerwyn. Then we saluted each other. He dropped into a ready stance his long blade held with two hands above his head, point forward. I followed a beat behind him. No sooner was my weight shifted and sword raised than his blade moved toward my shoulder.

  I parried and slid my blade toward him. He stepped out of its path and pushed my strike off line. The tip of his blade slashed in, and fast compared to the subtle flick of his wrist. I recovered fast enough to block and counter. I felt the rhythm of his blows. He was moving the same dance they practised a few moments before. His only change was to counter my out of sync swings. Once I recognised the rhythm, I tried to flow into it with him. Too many years, almost a century, had passed since I last enjoyed these dances.

  After a moment, he shifted his blows. Once I found the flow of the dance, I could also feel the movement of the air with my blade. The wooden sword was like a cat's whiskers, an extension of my senses.

  His next blow was out of the rhythm; a new dance began. Swing, step, parry step, thrust, step, parry, step. His blows forced me to back up. My muscles began to remember this new dance. Emlyn forced me to explore my limits. I was getting too close to the pile of practice weapons and needed to turn the fight around. This was a test of skill, and he was among the best I had met. I needed to be not just good, but my best.

  Thrust, step, parry, step. Only I stepped into his next swing and pivoted behind him. Yes, I used my speed to my advantage. I would need speed until I could get my body and mind working together well enough to stand a chance against his skill. My pivot brought me behind him on his off side. As my blade spun toward where his head had been, his blade sliced toward the back of my knees. I leapt over his blade and redirected my wooden sword toward his shoulder. That
forced him to step out of line and off to the side. His back was now to the practice weapons. He saluted me once with his blade.

  “Can you do two weapons?” There was a gleam behind that gaze. He was attractive, not overly muscular, but toned into a true fighter. A few streaks of grey intruded in his wavy dark brown. The crinkles of ages had just begun to creep into the skin around his dark eyes.

  My passion was brewing. Any more time with Emlyn on the weapons field and I suspected it would boil. Not lust for flesh, but for … completion. I recognised the gleam in his eyes. He looked as though he just found a missing piece to a puzzle. I felt the same. Skill and talent like his with the blade were what I had missed over the last century. This could become very interesting if I didn't misjudge his intentions.

  "I'll need to warm-up," I said. I would not, could not, let the opportunity he presented pass.

  2

  A Reawakened Soul

  His gaze took measure of my reach and stature. He handed me a sword that was an almost perfect counter to the weapon I already held. He selected another sword for his offhand. I retreated toward the centre of the practice yard.